Delight and Desire (5 page)

She looked up. Her eyes were wide and glistening. ‘What about your own family? What if your father should disown you? What then?’

He had not thought of that. He had not thought of anything except that sudden, all-encompassing fear that he would lose her. It was true he was the only child, but the Anstruther estate was not entailed. He had promised her the wealth of his family estates, but he did not yet own them. What if he never did?

He had his army pay. And he had a modest inheritance from his mother. It was not much, but it would allow them to live on the fringes of society. They might even live better than the Ritchies did now. Surely that was preferable to marriage to the merchant Craigie?

‘I am not dependent on my father, Isobel. In any case, I do not believe he would cast me off, especially not once he has met you.’ Was that the truth? Robert could not be sure. His conscience prompted him to add, ‘Even if he did disown me, I could provide for you. We would manage well enough.’

She had not moved. He seized her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm.. ‘Isobel, dear Isobel, I want you for my wife. I
need
you for my wife. Will you have me?’

She bent her head, her voice the merest whisper. ‘Forsaking all others.’

The words of the marriage service. Did that mean she agreed? ‘Isobel?’

Instead of replying, she tucked her arm under his and drew him back to the path. She began to walk slowly towards the exit.

‘Robert, you ask me to choose between you and my family, between lo—’ She stopped. She had flushed a pale rose-pink. ‘You ask me to choose between my inclination and my duty. I cannot decide now, here with you. Will you give me time to think?’

‘If you will at least consider my offer.’

‘I will. I promise I will. But I must return home before I am missed.’

‘When will I see you again? How will I know your answer?’

‘I will send Annie to you.’

‘You will not use her to—?’

She shook her head at him. ‘Whatever my answer, Robert, I promise I will deliver it to you in person. And now we must part.’ She withdrew her arm and dropped a polite curtsy. ‘Thank you so much for your escort, Major Anstruther,’ she said brightly. ‘It has been a pleasure. I hope we may meet again before the end of the season. Good day to you, sir.’

With that, she beckoned to her maid and started for the exit at a brisk pace. She did not look back.

‘Miss Isobel?’ Annie had kept silent since they entered the carriage at the Physic Garden, but now she reached out a hand to clasp Isobel’s. ‘’Tis hard, my lamb, choosing between yer family and the man you love.’

‘What? Annie, what makes you think—?’

‘I don’t
think
, lassie, I know. And I’ll stay at your side, whatever you do.’

Isobel fumbled for her handkerchief and blew her nose. She would
not
cry. She had a choice to make, and precious little time to think about it.

What could she do? She would not be permitted to refuse Mr Craigie’s offer once it was made. There was no salvation by that route.

Robert had sworn he would find a way to make it right. Did she dare to believe him? Did she trust him enough to abandon her family, and her duty, simply for love? He wanted her. He had even admitted he needed her. But he had not said he loved her.

Oh, it was tearing her apart. Love? Or duty? If she married Robert, if he did not succeed in reconciling their families, Isobel’s father would be left almost destitute. Could she bear to have that on her conscience?

It was so easy for Juliet and her Romeo. Juliet did not have a family on the point of ruin. And she had Friar Lawrence to help her to follow her heart.

The lovers had to die to end the feud.

Oh, ridiculous! It would never come to that! There must be a way of persuading Isobel’s father to accept Robert. Surely she could find a way?

The germ of a mad, impossible, outrageous idea settled in Isobel’s mind and began to grow.

Robert stood staring down into the fire, her hasty note loose in his fingers. How could an innocent girl even think of such a thing? For she
was
innocent. He would take his oath on it. She—

‘Shall I light the candles, Major?’ It was Grant, Robert’s army batman, quietly efficient as ever.

Robert folded the paper and stowed it in his pocket. ‘I am expecting a young lady visitor, Grant. She must come and go without being seen.’

Grant began to light the candles on the side tables. ‘That can be arranged, sir.’ He had not shown even a flicker of surprise. He finished stacking the piles of maps on the desk and looked up enquiringly. ‘You will not be wanting to discuss battle tactics tonight, I assume, sir? Shall I put these back in the store room?’

Battle tactics? With Isobel? Robert was shocked into a bark of laughter. ‘Yes, if you must.’ He watched as Grant collected up the maps and other military papers and crossed to the furthest bookcase. When he touched the hidden spring, the bookcase opened a little way, like a door. Behind it lay the windowless room that the original owner had used as a private gambling hell. It was as dark and forbidding as a prison.

Grant closed the bookcase again. ‘Shall I light the candles in the bedchamber as well, Major?’

‘No! What the devil should I want with candles there at this hour?’

His traitorous body knew the answer all too well.

‘Miss Smith has arrived, sir.’

Robert had heard no knock, nor the opening of the street door, yet suddenly she was here, standing in his hallway. She was closely wrapped in a thick dark cloak, with a heavily-veiled bonnet obscuring her face.

He would have known her anywhere!

‘You are welcome, Miss…er…Smith. That will be all, Grant.’

The moment the door closed, Robert propelled her into his sitting room and demanded angrily, ‘Have you the least idea of how dangerous this is? Visiting a man, unchaperoned, at this time of night? What if you should be recognised?’

‘Your man saw to it that I was not. And I am safer here than anywhere else we might meet, as I told you in my note. I believe my uncle is suspicious. He has employed a strange new manservant, who follows me when I go out.’

‘And has he followed you here?’

She put back her veil. ‘No. I made sure my departure was not observed.’

He could well believe it. Isobel Ritchie was no man’s fool. ‘Have you decided? Do you have a response to my offer?’ The words burst from him. His voice sounded much too sharp, even in his own ears. What was it about this girl that made him lose every last vestige of control?

She appeared quite unconcerned. She strolled across to the roaring fire, stripped off her gloves and held out her hands to warm. Then, quite casually, she untied her bonnet and flung it on to a chair. Her cloak followed. Underneath, she was wearing a ravishing evening gown of deep red silk, in an extremely low-cut style that would not have disgraced a member of the muslin company. Her choice of dress was outrageous. And yet the sight of her stirred his blood.

She looked across at him and smiled. Too knowingly. She must be perfectly well aware of his physical reaction to her beauty. No doubt she had dressed for just such an effect.

A warning voice thrummed in his brain. In that moment of madness in Chelsea, he had offered for Isobel Ritchie, believing her innocent, and cruelly used by her appalling family. But now she was behaving like a practised courtesan. Had she lured him into proposing by firing his lust at the prospect of a rival? Did Craigie even exist? She was a Ritchie, bred in the bone. It would be sweet revenge to take Robert’s wealth and then cuckold him, the moment she had his ring upon her finger.

He hated to believe such a thing of his twilight nymph. He knew he was letting ancient prejudice drive him. And yet he had to admit that it all fitted much too well. Especially with a Ritchie.

Doubt was eating at him. He frowned sternly at her. ‘That gown, if you will permit me to say so, ma’am, is rather too daring for an unmarried lady. It provokes quite the wrong response in any red-blooded male. May I fetch you a wrap?’

‘You have a supply of ladies’ wraps here? How…er…unusual.’

She was baiting him, probably quite deliberately. It was too artful by half. But however practised she was, she would not be allowed to win. ‘I am sure I can find something that will serve, Miss Ritchie. A towel, a quilt, a bedsheet, perhaps?’

‘A bedsheet?’ A slow, sensuous smile touched her mouth. ‘Yes, pray do fetch me one of those.’

‘I ought to strangle you with it,’ he muttered darkly, pushing past her to open the bedchamber door.

She caught his arm before he could do so. ‘Robert.’

He stopped dead. The touch of her fingers had set his arm aglow, and then the rest of his body. It was sheer torture. And she must know it.

‘Robert, I have come here to…to offer to share your bed. If you want me.’ By the time her incredible words were out, she was blushing to the depths of her décolletage.

The change floored him. How could he doubt her? She must be a true innocent. Only an innocent could blush like that. Surely it must be so?

She was staring at the floor, twisting her fingers together. Her earlier assurance had totally vanished. It must have been an act. But why?

He seized her by the shoulders. He wanted to shake the truth out of her, but he knew he could never do such a thing to her, no matter what she was. She was here alone, completely in his power, and she would leave here as untouched as she had come.

No, not untouched. She herself did not wish for that. She was offering to share his bed. And without having given him an answer to his proposal.

He understood it all then. Of course! She was going to turn him down. However much she valued Robert, she valued duty, and family, more. But she was too honest to pretend that there was nothing between them. So she had come to give him a farewell gift, the gift of herself. And to ensure that he could not refuse her, she had chosen to play the coquette, to feed his lust until it overcame all sense of honour.

Fear and anger gripped him, in equal measure. He could not prevent it from showing in his voice when he spoke. ‘I will not let you do this. You would dishonour us both. I will not send you, deflowered, to marry another man.’

She did not try to struggle free of his grasp. Nor did she look up at him. Her words, when they came, were barely audible. ‘If I am to defy my family, Robert, I…I must be sure of you. That is why I offered—’ She hid her burning face in her hands.

His heart began to gallop. Had he been so very wrong? ‘You
will
marry me, Isobel? Truly?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. She raised her head. Her eyes were dry, but anguished. ‘Because you promised you would make it right for my family. You have offered me a way of reconciling my duty with my…with my desire. Robert, I am trusting you to fulfil your promise!’

‘On my honour, I shall find a way to do so.’ It was a solemn vow. Somehow, he would do it. For this Ritchie siren who fired his blood to the point of madness.

He dropped his hands from her tender flesh and took a step back. He had surely been mistaken in thinking her practised in the art of seduction. He must not treat her as if she were.

He cast a quick glance towards the open door and the bed beyond. ‘Isobel, I— Isobel, there is no need for this. I do desire you—you know I do—but it can wait until after we are married.’

‘No.’ She moved to slide her hands behind his neck and draw him close. ‘No. This is what I want. Now. To seal our bargain. Kiss me, Robert.’

For a moment, he tried to resist. But the touch of her lips on his was magic, conjuring up all the enchantment of that first twilight encounter. It began again as a simple kiss. Then, as desire mounted, it became a kiss of commitment, and of longing, with an exciting edge, for longing was about to become fulfilment. They both knew that now.

Isobel dared to relax into him at last. Her spiky, top-lofty behaviour had been an act, a cloak to cover her fear of rejection. He had said he wanted her, and even that he needed her. But she was demanding that he mend a feud that had lasted for centuries. That was a huge price to ask from a man who did not love her. No sensible man would ever pay it, no matter how strong his body’s urges.

As the kiss deepened, Isobel understood that Robert was not that sensible man. Her hopes emerged like a budding flower. She would give herself to him, now, and then her love would be able to bloom in the sanctity of marriage.

When they parted, both were gasping for breath. Isobel looked him full in the face. What she saw in his eyes drained the last of the tension from her body. She let it go in a long sigh. He did want her. She could not tell exactly what he felt for her, but it was much more than mere lust.

‘You sigh? What is the matter, sweet?’ He sounded unsure. A bold soldier, veteran of many campaigns,
unsure
in the face of a willing virgin?

That wicked thought curled her mouth into a knowing smile. ‘Absolutely nothing is the matter. I was afraid this moment might never come. And now that it has…’ This was no time for words. She pulled his mouth back down to hers and kissed him eagerly. His groaning response shivered all the way down to her toes.

Robert deepened the kiss. The warmth of his embrace tingled against the bare skin of her arms and throat. It was as if she were so near the fire that her skin was starting to scorch. Yet this burning was wonderful. She wanted more and more, even if it should burn her up. This time, she would return his kiss in full measure. His tongue touched and withdrew. When he touched again, it was only just to the inside of her lips. He was tempting her to come to him. Did she dare?

She could not resist the taste of heaven that he offered. She touched her tongue between his lips, and beyond. He put a hand to the back of her head, pulling her mouth even closer. Encouraged, she went further and soon their tongues were twining and dancing together. It made her bones melt.

‘Oh, Isobel,’ he groaned into her mouth. It was a deep, primitive sound, like nothing she had ever heard before, even in his arms. He broke the kiss. ‘Oh, Isobel,’ he said again. There was such strain in his face as he gazed down into her eyes. ‘Are you truly sure you want this?’

Ah. Even now, he was prepared to stop, for her sake. She would not permit it. She had no words. Instead she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his open palm. Then she led him into his own bedchamber. The bed looked huge, dominating the whole room, but she was not afraid. She raised his free hand to her lips for another kiss. She could not bring herself to speak. She had been brazen enough already.

He seemed to understand her need. He cupped both her hands in his and raised them to his lips, kissing first one palm and then the other, with such gentleness yet such desire that she shivered. Was that what her kiss had done to him? She fervently hoped so.

He pulled her close and began to kiss her face, her neck, parading tiny kisses from her ear lobe all the way down to her breasts. They seemed to respond to the touch of his mouth, swelling as if trying to escape from the confines of her borrowed gown. It was almost indecent, but she had chosen it deliberately, to tempt him. And it had. Yet the temptation was biting into her, too. ‘I want to take this off.’ Oh, goodness! Had she said that out loud?

His deep chuckle against her skin proved that she had. ‘Soon, my lady, soon.’ He flicked his tongue across the top of her breast, just where it sank behind the constricting wall of her bodice. His hand cupped her through the fabric. She strained towards him. If only…

And then her breast was free. Somehow, he had pushed the fabric aside so that he could roll one longing nipple back and forth between finger and thumb. It was torture. She groaned. Then even greater torture, for he took it in his mouth and sucked so strongly that she felt the pull all through her body. Desire grew and settled at the junction of her thighs with hot, heavy longing. She gasped out his name.

‘That is a most beautiful gown, but you will be much more beautiful without it.’ He led her across to the fireplace, for there were no lights in the room. He bent to touch a spill to the hearth and lit two candles. ‘Mmm. Better. I want to see you.’ With caressing hands, he turned her round and round, touching, admiring, dropping tiny kisses on exposed flesh. ‘Beautiful. And about to become more so.’ He undid the fastenings of her gown and pushed it to the floor. Her petticoats followed. And then he bent to kiss her breasts, above her stays. She could feel his fingers at her back, deftly undoing her laces while at the same time, he sucked eagerly on her breast. The combination was so arousing that her knees turned to water. They buckled, just as he pushed her loosened stays from her body.

‘Ah.’ He caught her into his arms. ‘You are a diamond.’ He lifted her and carried her across to the bed where he set her down for a second, threw back the coverlet, and laid her on the cool, smooth sheets. He removed her shoes and kissed her ribbon garters. He started to kiss her outer thigh, just above her stocking. Then he kissed his way across to the soft skin of her inner leg, the tiny beginnings of his stubble teasing through the silken mesh. She let her thighs fall apart. This was what she wanted. This was the way to fulfilment.

He undid her garters and slowly rolled her stockings down to her feet, kissing all the way. It took his mouth away from the core of her, where she wanted him to be. It was tantalising, torturing. Wonderful.

She was floating away, eyes closed, as if on a supporting cloud. But suddenly he was gone! She opened her eyes. He was standing near the fireplace, with one of the candlesticks in his hand. And he was laughing!

‘One day—’ He was laughing so much he could barely speak the words. ‘One day, that rogue of mine will meet his match.’ He raised the candle so that its light fell on a small table in the darkest corner of the room. On it stood a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Robert threw her a rueful smile and reached for the bottle. ‘My batman, I fear, is too clever by half. But, on this occasion—’ He paused, gazing across at Isobel. She knew she looked like a wanton, spread across his bed, clad only in a chemise that clung damply to her curves and concealed nothing at all. ‘You look good enough to eat.’ He began to twist open the champagne. ‘Or to drink,’ he added wickedly.